


Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

by 655321



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/655321/pseuds/655321
Summary: ... She had always been exceedingly friendly toward him, so friendly, in fact, that he was suspicious of her the first time she came to Moriarty’s. But the way she was looking at him now, he hadn’t seen it before. It was almost the flattered, warmed expression she gave him whenever he would tell her how happy he was to see her, and she would cover his hand with hers ...





	1. Gob

**Author's Note:**

> A few scenes I found from years ago. I thought they held up so I might as well post them. Probably won't come back to them but who knows.

It was late, almost midnight when she walked through the door to Moriarty’s. The bar cleared out an hour ago, but Gob stood alone behind the bar nonetheless, cleaning glasses and tinkering with the radio. As was the case so many times before that it didn’t surprise him anymore, she came in wearing something different from the last time he’d seen her. It wasn’t strange, he thought, given her constant romancing around the wastes, that she’d pick up armor and clothing from travelling merchants or strip them off whoever got in her way. But it always kept the Megaton residents talking; extensive wasn’t exactly a word anyone would use to describe their wardrobe around here.  
Tonight she knocked the air out of him when she walked through the door, or, more like stumbled. She wore a skimpy outfit, probably taken off a dead Raider; calf-high boots, short, fraying denim shorts, a white tank cut off high to expose her toned stomach, a tattered brown vest, a large shotgun strapped to her back and a belt of ammunition across her chest. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises covered just about every inch of exposed flesh and blood matted a couple patches of her short blonde hair.  
She walked slowly to the bar; he rushed to one of the back rooms and grabbed a couple stimpaks from a box. She hauled her protesting body on to a barstool and Gob set the stimpaks in front of her. She had always been exceedingly friendly toward him, so friendly, in fact, that he was suspicious of her the first time she came to Moriarty’s. But the way she was looking at him now, he hadn’t seen it before. It was almost the flattered, warmed expression she gave him whenever he would tell her how happy he was to see her, and she would cover his hand with hers or stroke his forearm comfortingly when he told her if Moriarty had been especially nasty to him lately. Now, her expression was more intense, however, more…desperate. He forced himself to breathe.  
“Thank you, Gob,” she told him, her voice husky and tired, almost breaking his heart as her eyes drooped and she injected both stimpaks, one to each arm.  
“What happened, smoothskin?” he dared to ask now that she at least wouldn’t die at his bar.  
She huffed a heavy sigh and folded her arms on the bar, dropping her head to her shoulder.  
“Fucking Mirelurks…I knew it was a bad idea. They just kept coming…” she gave a quirky smile, “but sometimes you just can’t resist a scrap, you know?”  
Her eyes skipped up to his face for a moment. He looked at her blankly. He didn’t know. That was the fundamental difference between them. She continued,  
“Just when I was getting to the last of them, a couple of fucking Raiders show up just for good measure. Now I’m almost out of ammo, running low on stimpaks, and fucked on caps. Not to mention my travel plans are shot to shit since I’m stuck here until Moira’s stocked up again. I can’t get a room - I’ve only got the caps for supplies.”  
Gob took two cigarettes from his pack on the bar; lit one and handed her the other, lighting it for her. Then he poured her a shot of vodka and a shot of whiskey for himself. She looked taken aback by his actions. Then she laughed beautifully, touched his arm and said,  
“I love you, Gob.”  
He knew she didn’t mean it – not the way he wanted her to, anyway. But nonetheless it made his stomach flutter. He smiled back at her, trying to make it look sincere.  
“Look, don’t tell anyone, but…you can stay in my room nights until you get your supplies.”  
Her eyes lit up. He couldn’t believe that she was surprised he’d help her. After she’d only been kind to him, brought back any booze and cigarettes she found in her travels to sell to the bar or for the two of them to share after hours, listened to him bitch and moan about Moriarty…  
“Gob…I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”  
Gob shrugged as if it were nothing. It was everything.  
“Don’t mention it, smoothskin. Just be more careful next time,” he said, gesturing to her arms, where her cuts were shrinking in size, her bruises lightening.  
She downed the vodka and smoked her cigarette while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the last of the glasses. She laid her head on her arms, her cigarette drooping from her fingers. Gob stubbed out his own cigarette in an ash tray, poured himself a last shot of whiskey, and swallowed it quickly. Seeing her eyelids drooping tiredly, he plucked the cigarette from her hand, depositing it in the ashtray.  
“C’mon, you need to rest.”  
Gob followed close behind her as she climbed the stairs. To catch her if she falls, he told himself, not to admire the view. Once upstairs, he led her to his tiny room, the last on the right, and opened the door for her.  
“Do you need a minute?” he asked her politely.  
“No. You’re okay,” she answered amiably as she stripped off her weapons and ammunition, setting them on the small table.  
Gob sat in a chair at the corner of the room. He watched her pull off her boots and the dilapidated brown vest. Then she pulled off the cut-off tank and he couldn’t stifle his gasp.  
“Uh, God…” he moaned, putting a hand to his forehead to discretely cover his eyes.  
“What? Never seen a naked woman before?” she jabbed as she pulled off the shorts.  
“Not for about 200 years,” he answered, still not looking at her.  
Clad only in panties, she slipped under the rough blanket covering his cot.  
He heard her sigh.  
“Gob, what are you doing?”  
He dropped the hand from his eyes. He let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw her covering her breasts with the blanket.  
“Take those clothes off and get over here,” she told him firmly.  
“You’re joking,” he answered, wondering if he should be hurt. Was she joking?  
“You think I’m going to kick you out of your own bed when you’re risking your livelihood so I can have a place to sleep?”  
No. She wasn’t joking. She was pitying.  
“You don’t have to…just because I’m…”he sighed.  
“I’m not…It gets lonely out there, you know? I haven’t been with anybody since before I left the Vault and…I like you. I really like you. You’re probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met and…I don’t care that you’re a Ghoul, I mean, I…I kinda like it, actually. I want this. I want you.”  
Gob couldn’t believe this was happening, but he wasn’t going to spend all his time wondering how he’d got so lucky. And she didn’t have to tell him twice. He stood from the chair and strode to the edge of the cot. She knelt as he approached her, the blanket falling from her body. He drank in the sight of her, her small, perky breasts, the toned muscles of her abdomen, her thighs, strong and muscled from the miles she walked nearly every day. She smiled widely, so he stripped off his shirt, his eyes searching her face, waiting for her smile to fall, waiting for disgust. But what he found in her eyes was not repugnance, it was desire.  
She purred. Purred. It made his head spin. She grabbed him by the hips and pulled him close, running her hands over his torso. To her, his body was an adventure; a patchwork landscape of radiation-ravaged roughness and leathery smoothness and sinewy, slick softness.  
She stretched herself up to kiss him, sliding an arm over his shoulder. Her other hand climbed up his torso, his neck, to rest on his cheek. She pulled him fiercely into her kiss. And she moaned against his lips. Gob finally worked up the courage to touch her, placing his hands lightly at her hips. She instantly jerked toward him; she would have fallen off the bed had his body not been there for her to fall into. She moaned into his mouth again, her body writhing against him. It was too much. He had to come up for air.  
He pulled his lips away from hers.  
“Fuck!” he gasped.  
She trailed kisses across his jaw, his neck, down his chest. He shook his head, as if to clear away the inexplicable sight of her devouring his corpse of a body in kisses.  
“What the hell is wrong with you, smoothskin?”  
She looked up at him and giggled. Shit, he’d never figure this one out. She didn’t say anything – just giggled and went back to covering his rotting flesh in sweet kisses. She kissed her way back up to his mouth and traced her tongue over his lips. Emboldened by her sincerity and eccentric arousal, he parted his lips and pushed his tongue in her mouth before she had time to do the same. He dropped one of his hands from her hips to her ass. As she pressed her body against him once more in response to his touch, he was the one to let out a moan.  
Without warning, she dropped a hand to his crotch, immediately finding her target, rubbing her palm against his hard-on through the fabric of his pants. The pleasure this should have given Gob was muted by sheer panic. Panic that only increased as she broke their kiss, sliding her other hand down his chest to assist in freeing his straining cock. Before she could get that far, however, he gathered his wits enough to grab her wrists.  
“No. No,” he shook his head in a fearful, frantic motion.  
Her bizarre desire for him aside, there was no way that the sight of his rotting cock, engorged and pulsing with his pathetic lust could be greeted with anything but disgust.  
She simply smiled. “What’s wrong? It works, obviously.”  
Her wrists tried to squirm from his grasp.  
“No…just – please, don’t.”  
“Gob.”  
She stared up at him and he met her eyes, his expression mortified.  
“It’s alright,” she assured him, shaking her hands free.  
She unzipped his pants and pulled them over his hips. He closed his eyes. Fuck, she was so close he could feel her breath on his cock. He braced himself, ready for her to scream, berate him, run from the room, laugh –  
Soft, wet heat sheathed the head of his cock; gentle suction coaxed the angry, pent-up, resentful lust of centuries from him as her mouth slowly took more of him, inch by inch, her fingers finally wrapping around the base of his shaft. Gob couldn’t do anything – couldn’t breathe, couldn’t moan, as he opened his eyes. He thought he’d go insane from the sight of her, staring up at him, her mouth and her hand around his cock. She had only to squeeze and stroke a few times before his hand tangled in her hair and he came in her mouth, the force of it shattering, shocking, shaking him to the bone. He surreally felt the appropriate action would be to collapse into a large pile of dust.  
He fell, and somehow, by some luck, he fell onto the mattress.  
“I…I’m sorry…” he mumbled, when he finally realized he possessed the capacity to speak.  
She giggled again.  
“Don’t be,” she told him happily.  
Happily…how could she be happy about this? In a moment of overwhelming fear and embarrassment, Gob wondered if his come was irradiated. He dared a glance at her. She was smiling like a proverbial cat who ate a canary. And she was staring ravenously at his body stretched across the mattress and naked except for his pants around his ankles.  
“You’re adorable,” she told him, “and I think you’re beautiful.”  
She touched his cheek.  
“There is something seriously wrong with you, Vaultie.”  
She smiled at the nickname and planted a quick but heavy kiss on his lips.  
“I know.”  
Now that Gob had recovered from the shock and the terror and the pleasure of the situation he found himself in – a very real and sincere situation, despite his disbelief – he reached down to pull off his boots and pants. He turned to her, and let his eyes feast on her perfect body for long moments. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know what to do with her. But he was lucky; for she knew exactly.


	2. Charon

The Super mutant was calling after her, ridiculous Super mutant shit like “I can smell your fear.” It rounded a damaged wall a few yards from where she crouched; completely overlooking her as it passed. She sprang agilely from her crouch and took a few long, graceful strides. She delivered two well-aimed shotgun blasts to the Super mutant’s head. It made a hell of a mess and left her with adrenaline coursing through her. 

She turned to smile beamingly at Charon as he sauntered to her, swinging his shotgun over his shoulder to its place on his back. The two had just successfully wiped out a small army of the beasts. Knowing they were safe through the silence – Super mutants weren’t the stealthiest of creatures, Stealth Boys or no – she grabbed the Ghoul the second he was close enough. She pulled him to her for a bruising, lusty kiss. He grunted approvingly against her lips, roughly grabbing her shoulders and slamming her back against the ruined half-wall. Her hands worked deftly and practiced at his leather, unbuckling his belts and pulling at laced fastenings; she had the only part of him she needed at the moment freed and awaiting her within seconds. Charon grinned wickedly as he worked at her leather pants. 

Months in her employ and this had been perfected…and now it was a fucking race apparently. She looked at him with mock impatience as he finished unfastening her pants, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugging both garments down around her knees. She wrapped her arms around his neck and with a little careful maneuvering he positioned himself at her entrance, his hands gripping under her thighs and lifting her hips even with his. With one well-positioned, strong thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside her. 

There was no pretense to this, no uncertainty, no questions. It was as routine as the slaughter itself. It was the necessary release to how much they both got off on the hunt, the killing, staring fucking death in the face and telling it to fuck straight off. After a good fight, she was always wet for him, he was always hard for her. Their battlefield coupling was the most organic, primal, beautiful thing either of them had experienced and they both knew it forged a bond between them. The death and the sex, it was essential to both of them; they’d both spent too much time in the untamed wastes, with the violence and the slaughter. They would never escape it and neither of them could share it with anyone else. There was more than just Charon’s contract binding them now.

Charon pounded into her wildly, hard and fast and without any rhythm, just instinctual movements desperately seeking release. Charon knew it didn’t matter. His Mistress was the most unfussy woman he’d known. Sure, she had the things she especially liked, but everything he did seemed to get her off, no matter how clumsy, how apathetic, how unintentional. She screamed with every thrust, huskily shouting his name into the crumbling building, into the empty, ruined streets. As she clung tightly to his shoulders and began bucking frantically against him, nearing her release, his eyes darted across everything in his field of vision, his hearing straining for any enemy’s tell-tale sounds through her pleasured howls. They appeared to be just as alone as they felt.

Then she screamed his name – the loudest volume her voice could reach, he was sure – and she clenched around him like a vice grip, tearing a powerful orgasm from his cock and a rough growl of “Mistress” from his throat. Her legs shook violently as he helped her disentangle herself from him and redress. She sank down to the debris-strewn floor, still leaning against the half-wall. She pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from a pocket of her leather bomber jacket and lit up. Charon tucked himself back into his pants, did up his belts, and sat next to her, pulling out his own cigarettes and following suit.

“I came so hard. You know why?”

“Why?” Charon humored her. 

“When you were looking around us for enemies, and I saw you listening for footsteps or voices even when I was making such a racket,” she grinned. “I know you’ve always got my back, Charon. You  _ never  _ let your guard down, even when we’re fucking. It’s fucking sexy. And, it’s kinda romantic.”

Charon snorted, but he agreed with her assessment. He supposed that sleeping with one eye open was about as romantic as he got.

 


	3. Charon

She lay sprawled face down on the bed, Charon straddling her ass, his fingers working over her naked back, massaging out knots of tension and soothing aching muscles. She mewled softly under his ministrations.

A bath and a massage were her established routine with him upon returning to Megaton from traveling the wastes. As soon as they arrived in town, it was straight to the house and the minute she set foot through the door she began peeling off weapons and armor.

As his hands slid over her smooth, perfect flesh, he figured he was goddamned lucky. Just months ago, the idea that  _ this  _ would be his duty to an employer…Just months ago, the thought that a beautiful, healthy,  _ ballsy  _ woman would sweep in, steal him away from Underworld and change his life of silence and brutality and murder into one including naked massages and amazing, wild sex and…compassion, and seemingly endless opportunities to do something  _ good  _ for a change…that thought would have made him so miserable he never would have let it into his head. Just a few months ago. If his service to Azrukhal was hellish, then his service to his Mistress is heaven.

His Mistress.

She hadn’t told him much about herself. About the Vault, sure, about her search for her father and about her dead mother, but not about her personally. He had told her even less about himself. Neither of them asked personal questions of each other. He didn’t even know her name. He’d been calling her Mistress for so long, at her request the day she’d bought his contract, that it might as well have been her name.

Suddenly, she playfully wriggled her ass under him. She must have been feeling better. He slid back, straddling her thighs, cupping a firm buttock in each hand. She arched her back, pressing herself lightly against his palms as he caressed her. She slowly crawled forward, sliding her legs completely out from under him and raising herself to her knees. He gave one ass cheek a heavy spank and loved the pleasured moan it elicited from her. He knew that moan, the sound she made when she  _ really  _ fucking liked something and wanted more. 


	4. Both

Gob slowly pushed open the door to her house. He was shocked to see that they had started without him. He personally had never witnessed their ravenous affections – whenever she did bring Charon with her into the bar, they always kept their hands to themselves (for his sake, he hoped) – but he’d certainly heard about it from other settlers. People would come into the bar talking about how  _ nauseating  _ it was to see, such a beautiful girl and that disgusting Ghoul, and so unabashed, kissing and touching and not caring who saw.

Gob turned his thoughts to the scene in front of him. He wanted little more than to turn around and walk straight back to Moriarty’s. But this is what  _ She  _ wanted.

She always complained that the upstairs rooms were too small. Today, the sofas in the main room had each been pushed against a wall and two mattresses lay in the middle of the room. Beside the mattresses, she stood with Charon, kissing him in a manner that seemed almost  _ violent _ . Charon was wearing only his leather pants and she had on that cute, skimpy outfit Gob loved, the ripped white tank top and fraying denim shorts. Charon’s hands were - the word that came to Gob’s mind was  _ violating _ her; groping her breasts and squeezing her ass. Her hands roamed just as frantically over his muscled chest and arms. Gob felt smaller with every passing second. Watching felt like a knife stuck in his heart, twisting with every movement of their hands on each other, every caress of their lips, every moan and movement of her body, the signs of the pleasure she obtained from Charon instead of  _ him _ . Gob knew he had no right to her. But…he was her first. Well, not her  _ first  _ first, but her first Ghoul, and Ghouls seemed to be about all she was interested in now. Gob wondered if she’d get bored of them eventually. If this was some phase that would pass once she satisfied her morbid curiosity. He couldn’t stand the idea.

She pulled herself away from Charon to look at him; she met his eyes and he held the contact, even though he wanted to break it. She smiled and he bet she had known he was there since he opened the door. Charon continued to nip at her neck for a few seconds before turning to Gob as well, his hands resting on her hips. Gob forced himself to stifle a growl. If he couldn’t possess her then Charon damn sure couldn’t.

“Gob.”

The way she spoke his name made his stomach turn somersaults. She always spoke to him so kindly, but when there was that lust in her voice…it sent a fire straight to his crotch and somehow he felt emboldened. He was forced to be so meek at the bar, cowering under the threat of Moriarty’s fist, enduring Nova’s cruel taunts and teases, even if he had the caps, even if he begged her… But now, the courage, the boldness  _ Her  _ lust gave him…it was addictive. Granted, he’d stopped begging at Nova’s feet a long time ago. Since the Vault girl walked into town, Nova was no longer of the slightest interest to him…no other woman was.

She slipped out of Charon’s arms and took a step toward him, holding out a hand, beckoning him to close the distance. Gob grinned widely, striding to her and wrapping his arms around her. Seeing her leave Charon behind her got his dick fully hard. She pressed her body close to his and captured his mouth in a kiss he was eager to return.


	5. Trouble on the Homefront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex in this one :( booooooo

    For miles, Charon's voice had been stuck in his throat as they traveled in silence. Occasionally, she'd flip on the radio, an audio log, or she'd listen to her friend's voice on 101's distress signal again. Charon could feel the unspoken emotion just below the surface of her demeanor, but her mood and intent escaped him. She'd been coldly silent and stoic since the distress signal appeared on her pip boy.

    Charon kept his distance. Usually when he did, it wouldn't be long before she'd throw an inviting look over her shoulder, her eyes bright and lips full. And he would take a few long strides to close the distance and walk beside her. But she hadn't looked back since they left Megaton. Not that he minded much. The view from behind was exquisite.

    For weeks she'd been complaining about the clunky metal armor she had to resort to using when her favorite set of leathers had accumulated so many holes as to be useless. Not five minutes after they stepped through the Megaton gates, back from their last expedition, she had put Moira to work repairing the leather. Charon had almost forgotten how phenomenal her ass looked cased in leather. Almost.

    Watching her climb the incline that lead to Vault 101 tore a growl from him. Once she was on flat ground again she glanced back at him as he topped the incline. He gave her a smirk, knowing he'd been caught. Surprisingly, she returned the smirk. Then her gaze fell on the simple door in the mountain face in front of her. His hands were itching to feel the leather, luxuriously soft from such constant use, and the hard muscle of her body underneath. Charon knew that as soon as he touched her she would slip out of his hands. It wasn't just how upset she seemed by the call home. The last couple months she'd been experimenting with extended teasing. A tease. Something she'd never have imagined in their first several months together, when she'd fuck him senseless every day and demand more. When she'd beg for him like a fiend. Now she'd deny him for days. He could see it drained her just as much as it did him, but when they came together after days without, it was explosive. Desperate, thrilling, and intense. Still, he hoped it wasn't more than experimentation.

    Sauntering up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her. She did not break away and he sighed with relief. His hands savored her tight abdominal muscles and the curve of her hips. He used his next breath, as important in that moment as if it were his last, to draw deeply her scent, his lips pressed to her throat.

    “Charon?”

    “Mistress?”

    “Promise me. Whatever happens here, that you'll go along with it. You'll follow my lead?”

    They both knew he was contractually bound to do so. The fact that she would have to ask was unsettling. But he did not hesitate.

    “Of course.”

    For a moment she was silent. She felt him nuzzling into her windblown hair. She let him hold her and she leaned back into his embrace, his hard, strong body immovable. She would never be able to fully express what he meant to her. How comforted she was by his constant presence.

    “What's going to happen?” he mumbled through her tangled, dark blonde locks, his lips brushing against the skin just behind the shell of her ear.

    “I don't know.”

    Her hands went to the 10mm smg hanging from her belt. His hands slid around to her back, still stroking her body in a way that was simultaneously calming and arousing. She checked the weapon quickly and thoroughly. The gesture was deliberate. Whether it meant for him to be prepared for trouble or that she was planning something, he was certain she knew much more than she was telling him about what to expect inside that vault. He moved to stand beside her. When she turned to him, her eyes were dark, something glinting malicious in the blue irises, something he had never seen in her before. Not like this. Killing raiders? Maybe. But returning to her home?

    “Ready?” she asked, flipping the smg's safety off and slipping it back into its place on her belt.

   

 

    “Stop right there! I don't know how you got in here, but – hold on – Sofiya? Yes! It is you! I hardly recognized you with all the dust and grime from out there!”

    “Hello, Mr. Gomez,” she answered in a calm, warm tone of familiarity.

    Gomez's eyes flickered to Charon, and, after taking a moment to realize through his riot helmet and the dim light that the unnatural patterns of Charon's skin were not dust and grime, his eyes bulged, then he averted them.

    “You should know, your coming back will stir up trouble with some of the folks here. If you just walk away, I won't tell anyone you were here.”

    “I can't do that. I came to see Amata. I got her message.”

    “Amata sent you a message? For her sake, don't tell anyone inside about that. If I can't convince you to change your mind, I'll take you to her.”

    “Thank you.”

    Just inside the lower level atrium, Freddie Gomez was standing off with Officer Taylor. Freddie looked determined and Taylor looked unsteady.

Her hand gripped the smg, poised to draw. Taylor took a shot, but Freddie's silhouette retreated unharmed into a dark ttunnel. She was shocked to see Freddie's own father watching the situation blankly from behind her. He wasn't even prepared to lift a finger for his own son. The inaction spoke volumes about the situation in the vault. As Gomez led them on towards Amata, Charon stepped up closer behind her.

    “Sofiya?” he whispered, close to her ear.

    “You just keep calling me Mistress,” she whispered back with the kind of confident smirk he loved to see when they were in bed.

    “Yes, Mistress,” Charon grinned.

    “Amata's in the clinic. Just down the hall to the left.”

    “I remember. Thank you, Officer Gomez.”

    “Be careful, Sofiya,” He nodded and turned to take the stairs back to the atrium.

    Just ahead, she saw a familiar figure rounding the corner.

    “Oh, shit.”

    Charon's hand immediately went to the stock of his shotgun at the tone of her voice. But as the figure came into light he relaxed. Just a skinny, bratty looking teenager. She loved the fear that flashed on Butch's face at the sight of what was to him a well-over-six-foot-tall monster standing behind her. He masked the fear quickly, but his voice broke nervously as he began to speak, instantly shattering his attempt at a tough guy act.

    “Well, damn. Look who's come waltzing back into the vault. Takes some balls to come back here after what you and your dad screwed up. And what the fuck is this you brought with you?”

    “You shut your goddamn mouth, DeLoria, or I'll let my pet zombie eat your brains!”

    Butch's wide, horrified eyes jumped between her and Charon.

    Charon, beautiful man that he was, played along, making a beastly face and a hungry growl. Butch kept his mouth shut.

    “Good. Stay quiet and stay the hell out of my way and you might live to see the wasteland.”

    Charon gave her a look she never wanted to see again as they left Butch behind and headed toward the clinic.

    “I'm sorry, Charon. But, a kid like Butch? What was I supposed to say? This is my ghoul boyfriend and he's a person too?”

    Charon wanted to launch an angry tirade about respect, but he knew it would just be stupid. She'd said it to scare the kid off and save them both a headache, by the look of him.

    “It doesn't matter. Let's just do what you're going to do and get the hell out of here,” he told her, suddenly exasperated at the idea that she may have to explain what a ghoul is to every damn person in this hellhole.

    She gave him an appreciative, reassuring smile and cupped his chin, bringing his lips to hers. Charon closed his eyes and for a precious moment there was nothing but her. She broke the kiss and their eyes locked for a long moment. Then she turned, leading the way into the clinic. Amata immediately rushed to her.

    “Oh my God, you're back! You got my message and actually came back!”

    She plastered a wide smile on her face for her old friend, as Amata embraced her. As Amata pulled away, she saw her eyes were wide at the sight of Charon.

    “Amata, this is Charon. He keeps me safe in the wasteland. Charon, Amata.”

    Charon nodded and Amata managed a nervous smile.

    “I'm sorry, but, um...” Amata looked anxiously between the two standing before her, as if unsure who to ask about Charon's condition.

    “On the outside, they call them ghouls. People who have suffered advanced radiation poisoning,” she explained patiently, saving Amata the fear of asking.

    “Oh,” Amata appeared adequately sympathetic upon hearing the words “people” and “suffer.”

    Charon rolled his eyes. Fear or pity. But he knew it couldn't be otherwise, even most of the time among wastelanders, much less with these ignorant shut-ins.

    Amata began explaining about the situation in the vault and her crazy father, and she thought she should have killed the Overseer when she had the chance. She couldn't help but feel a disconnect. Maybe if her father were still alive she could give a shit. More intensely than she'd ever helplessly wished for anything, she wished he could be here with her for this. He could handle these people, even if most of them hated him now. He could at least tell her what to do. No, she knew full well what he would tell her to do, and how he would handle this. But she just didn't have the fortitude, didn't have the patience. Because now, everyone in this goddamned vault seemed crazy, helpless, irresponsible, downright stupid, and completely undeserving of her help.

    And she knew how that sounded. She'd trek from one end of D.C. to the other for a stranger with caps but she wouldn't even help these people, the closest to family she had? All she wanted to do for these assholes was blast the whole vault into oblivion and put them all out of their ridiculous bickering and fearful misery. They could barely survive in their safe little box. How the hell would any of them make it in the wastes?

   

   


End file.
